Alone
by cutewithgreeneyes
Summary: Lily's a sociopath on the verge of suicide. Miley's a concerned neighbour with a passion for solving enigmas. Will she be able to save Lily in time, or will she find herself in too deep to salvage the remains of her once-perfect life? Liley.
1. Lily

**I really like this story guys, its currently one of my distinguished pride and joys. I promise you it will need some patience and maybe its not your thing but I certainly enjoy this genre and I think it puts a great twist on the normal "fancified" and "untragic" love between the two best friends we love so much. So hopefully you give this the time of day like with YLIEW and plz plz plz review and tell me if this is worth your time and my putting it up! THANK YOU SO MUCH!  
**

Thinking. That's what Lily spent many a morning indulging herself in, swallowing her thoughts with mugs of coffee and browsing the expanses of her barren landscape. She rocked back in her porch chair, rocking, breathing, and sipping in time with the wind. Sometimes, when deep contemplation became lost in the nostalgia of her memories, she was forced to endure her self-inflicted punishment of past-life. Memory was the haunting reminder that life could never be perfect. And the world made it clear she was never meant to forget.

The way the gentle breeze caressed her face in the manner of just affection and how the birds called his name in the mocking tones of their joyousness. The dirt beneath the yellowing grass was identical to the chocolate of his eyes, and the unkempt curl of her mangled garden was the state of his uncombed locks. And the sun's beating shine that poured fervent warmth on her face gave the same glow of his smile when his heart fluttered in happiness.

No, she was never allowed the satisfaction of forgetting. Instead, she mourned in the embrace of her favorite tree. It held her at night when she was restless, it held her at day when she was hurt, and it held her whenever she needed comfort, just as _he_ had. And if she dreamed hard enough of him, the great Oak took in his rugged scent. The branches grew soft like his sturdy arms. And in its deepest heart- which she refused to admit was fictitious- it bloomed an even greater love for her. But never more than his.

She sighed, unfolded her legs, and journeyed into her house. There was no panacea for the illness she suffered. There was hardly a substance bold enough to douse the flames that engulfed her stinging heart. She sighed, pointedly, and reached for her bottle of Anti-Depressants. Today would be a difficult day to overcome fatal temptations. She had forecasted the sadness of the day when she awoke with discomfort in her bones, and had confirmed this notion by dwelling on wrong memories.

Everything was reminding her of him. It was as though the icy limbs of death were determined to pull her under the lines of consciousness. Even as she swallowed the heavy tablets, she could remember a time when she couldn't recall the feelings of sadness. Now, she needed the temporary buzz of artificial happiness, just to keep herself alive. With a roll of her eyes she took her daily cocktail of numbing meds, and began to occupy herself with the duties of home and work.

Her house was not unpleasant, but neither did it boast an exaggeration of color or design. It looked lived in by its accessories, but uninviting to company. The walls were frameless, without wall paper, and in the sobering color of a dull white. Most of the furniture was effortlessly picked, therefore mismatching, and served only the purpose of necessity.

The outside of her home was sickly. The brick was battered and weathered and chipped in many places. She paid little to no attention to any greenery on her lot, save the precious beauty of her sole Oak tree. Squeezed in a hidden corner, there was a small garden packed with withering roses. In a pleasant past, she once grew roses near perfect. But when her heart was broken, her green thumb for love was retired. Yet, as she couldn't bring her heart to rid of him, she couldn't bring her hands to rid of the dying flora. So they remained as another tangible memory.

**---*---**

The rain tapped impatiently on the windows. The lightning ripped through dark seams of sky, its fingers white with fury. An earsplitting crack of thunder shook through the house, a last futile attempt to wake the thrashing blonde. With the screams of heaven she bolted upright, wide-eyed, finally freed from her drug-induced slumber.

She tried, in the deliriousness of rising, to shake the remains of her dream. He had been in sight, dressed as handsome as the day she fell for him, and yet he was simply a silhouette that could not be reached or attained. She ran and ran for him, and cried and cried and woke tear-stained and whimpering. With every tear came the feeling of being pathetic and weak. It aggravated her and she focused her gaze on the window for distraction.

The winds seemed to slow, and they gently rocked the house, singing lullabies in their whistles. The storm had come to awaken her, like a mother to wake her sleepless child mid-nightmare. Just in time it saved her from venturing into the details of her past. Nature cared for her like no one else. After all, no one had even contacted her since the loss of _his_ heart.

After willing her legs to move, she showered, ate, and took her daily position before her lot. She was unashamed to claim ownership for the uncared-for mess of a lawn. It was her way of saying _stay away from my yard._ And as she sat, coffee in hand, rocking in her chair, she knew that her subtle alluding had fulfilled its purpose. That is, before two little shaggy headed boys ran onto her lot, mashing hearty holes in her unstable grass.


	2. Miley Ryan

**Thanks so much for being my first reviewer Glistening Shadow **** I can always count on u to help me out. I apologize immensely for my absence and I will do my best to keep up with skewl pressure! Finals coming up so hopefully ill stay still be able to make plenty of time for my readers!**

Miley was quiet, fuming under her mask of calmness, and not making contact with her husband. She gazed out at the neighborhood, stewing in the anger she felt, and trying to let the calmness of the countryside take her. It didn't. It looked awkward and dilapidated. This place was pure hell. There were giant houses all about the area, all looking beautiful and staged. They had quite a few neighbors, a few unoccupied houses, but mostly just the grassland that was the country. Small neighborhoods were unappealing to a City girl.

As she carried another box into the living room, she noticed her two sons sprinting across the streets.

"Jordan, Riley, get back here!" she cried out in vain and barely caught a glimpse of the speeding boys.

"Hun, I'll worry about the boxes, maybe you should head over and wrangle them in?" Jake attempted a kind and questioning look at his wife. He knew she was mad; she'd been mad from the moment he'd broken the news. She was a big city girl at heart and this new environment was suffocating her.

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine." She adopted an annoyed tone and went on, taking her sweet time, to find the boys down the street.

She looked up at the last lot on the block. It was a dark red brick house. The front yard looked chewed and spit, the house looked decrepit, and if there really was an owner, it would have to be a dangerously old man. Jordan and Riley were beginning to climb the great oak tree, not caring about abiding any rules. It was then that she noticed a small figure walking up to them.

From the distance, the age was unidentifiable. She didn't look old, but she did look tired and aged beyond herself. There was nothing but blonde hair and a female frame that could be seen from the distance. And the way she was walking suggested that the conversation she planned to start was not a pleasant one.

Miley moved in to defend her boys. She was quickly becoming exhausted with the overly-cheerful or overly-dreary townsfolk. As she neared the woman, she could better make out her figure. The poorly chosen clothes hung loosely over her abnormally skinny body. Her face was cream and her cheeks and lips were a pale pink. She was beautiful, but looked defeated, the effects of her defeat lying deeply in the sadness of her young face. She looked older than she was. But one thing remained stunning. Her eyes. They were the greatest pierce of blue she'd ever seen, that is, under the heavy coating of apathy that sat in dull places about her nature.

As the blonde girl moved closer to the boys, Miley could make out an indefinite scowl forming on her features. This would be the time to move them.

"Jordy, Riles, get out of our neighbor's yard this instant, and keep yourselves out of trouble. Now go help your father unpack." She tried to lower her voice, tried to keep her obvious distaste hidden in the fake patience of her speech. But she was failing, and her boys were scared to disobey.

As much as Miley would have preferred to just take the boys and leave the clearly unhappy woman alone, something reminded her of her obligations to be neighborly. Therefore, as her boys sprinted in the direction of their new house, the brunette steadily walked up to the blonde.

"Hello, I'm your new neighbor, Miley Ryan. I live two doors down in the yellow house." She awkwardly offered her hand to the less-than-interested figure.

"Guess you are then. Lillian Truscott. Please remind your children to refrain from playing on my property, and climbing on my greenery." She kept a monotonous seriousness as she took the hand in a rigid shake, immediately pulling it away when the meeting was satisfied. Her eyes kept a stolid guise.

Miley didn't make a departure when the handshake was over, and it confused Lily to no end as to what to do next. Her social skills had long been forgotten in her years of loneliness, and with no persuasion to remain connected or caring of anyone who surrounded her, she was unsure of how to handle conversation.

"I apologize Lily; I'll make sure they stay clear of your yard. I know how important it is to some people."

"Alright then." She replied emotionlessly.

"Umm well Lily could you tell me where there's a grocery nearby? I have to pick up some food and I don't know where anything is around here."

Lily was silent, thinking; she hadn't ever paid attention to this place. Whenever she needed groceries, she simply got in her old truck and drove. Somehow, she knew where she was going, knew what she needed, had enough money to purchase it, and knew her way home. No names stuck out to her, no directions could be given. These were the negatives of living out of body. She was often so numb she could barely comprehend her environment. Crowley was the town she moved to after she couldn't stand the idea of being anywhere near the expansions of her sadness. This town was just a blur, a resting place for her soulless body. Honestly, she couldn't name even _one_ of her neighbors or even _one_ of the stores in the area.

"Sorry, I don't know any of them by name."

"Oh, uh, lived here long?" Miley looked confusedly at the woman before her. Was she mentally impaired or something?

"Something of two years. I apologize for being unhelpful, but I must excuse myself. I hope that your move was safe and I hope you enjoy it here in Crowley. However, I'm due to work in a matter of minutes. I simply wish you keep your children off my property. Good day Mrs. Ryan."

Lily began to turn and leave, not even waiting for a reply from the other woman.

"Uh no problem Lily I'll keep them far away. Thanks for the welcome." Miley shouted after the retreating form, being met with an unturned back. And as she, too, walked toward her house, she couldn't help but think that there was something _very_ strange about Ms. Lillian Truscott.


	3. Dinner Guest

Two weeks passed and the Ryans were somewhat comfortably situated. Miley was still sour on the country life, but Jordan and Riley were quickly sucking away her attention, as most seven year old twin boys do. She had made acquaintances with all her neighbors, and even managed to find her way around the small town. All the faces were the same, all the faces were impossible to evade, all the faces haunted her with their amazing optimism. But none of the faces were as vividly imprinted as Lily's. It seemed as though the blonde mystery was just a figment of her imagination. Did she even exist? Not once had she seen her, and it was hard to miss people in such a tiny environment.

Everyday she'd pass the house, just to make sure it was really there, and she'd look nosily into the windows to be met with the opaque blackness of turned out lights. No, maybe there never was a Lily Truscott. Maybe she'd moved. From all she'd heard from the neighbors, this girl was someone no one cared about. She remembered an elderly man named Bobby Grey recalling his impressions of her.

_"She's a young 'un little Misses. That Ms. Truscott mus be somethin' of twenny three. Ya'd ne'er tell the way she sulks about 'er 'ouse and 'er face is all drear' and such. Don't think I've e'er seen a little girl so sad as 'er. She's a Go'damn beauty she is. But 'er sadness got 'er all screwed up in the heart and the face. Now don't ya go messing with that little Lil'ian, Mrs. Ryan, she's got all that anger all bursting through and anyone who'll talk to 'er will get the hot end of it."_

After that warning, and her cold first encounter, Miley was determined to break this girl.

---*---

Lily looked out the window. It was eight o'clock. Tiredness was filtering into her eyes, and she took a satisfying swig of her coffee. She sat at her dining table, which she'd placed by the window many months ago. Something about watching other people gave her comfort. It forced her to remember that she was alone by choice, not by option. She didn't want their company. All the company she needed sat in her pleasant memories, her tree, and her bottles of various medications. It was a friendship from which she could just take, instead of giving and giving and giving like she always did with him.

Her eyes were met with the same face she'd become accustom to staring at. It was Miley Ryan. She'd come to gaze at the house every day since their last meeting. Unbeknown to her, she was looking right into Lily's eyes, past the tinted windows. It was odd to see such infatuation in another. She often reflected on her _own_ past infatuation, but it always led to memories, and that always led to unwanted bouts of increased depression.

Looking at Miley gave her a sense of security. As though her eyes were embracing her, her gaze was encompassing her in warmth. It was a same feeling she got when she was with him, and she didn't like that another could have such effect. So, she readied herself for bed and stared at her ceiling until sleep took her.

_She heard the door open, familiar steps on the wooden floor. They were tentative steps, trying to be hidden, trying to be discreet, and trying not to be loud footsteps in a sleepy house at two in the morning. These were Oliver's steps. There was a click of the shower turning on, and the sound of the running water reverberated about the house. Exactly twenty minutes later, it was clicked off, and he continued his quiet attempt at sneaking about the house._

_ He entered the room and she felt the soft squish of his weight on the bed. He smelled fresh of soap but still he stunk of the odor he tried to wash away. It was the distinct odor of guilt. She closed her eyes, to look asleep, and she waited for his movement. There was none. He wouldn't touch her, wouldn't even acknowledge her presence. And she lay in the bed, sobbing quiet tears, and knowing he would be gone when she awoke._

Again the memories flooded her, and she looked to the empty side of the bed, and she buried her face in her pillow feeling the warm tears crawling down her cheeks.

---*---

"Deal with your kids Jacob." Jake shot a bored glare over to his wife, and then another to his tangled boys.

"What do you want me to do Miley?!" He yelled back over.

"I don't give a fu- crap. I'm going out."

"Miley!" "Miley?" He whined.

She walked out and slammed the door behind her.

She hadn't spent much time here, but she knew of a quiet little nook within the forest. It opened into a small lake. She pulled her jacket around her, and braved the mild winds in the ten minute walk to the outlet. And as she approached the closing she saw a small figure sitting on the banks, her wavy blonde hair tied in a loose ponytail. She had a big jacket, swallowing her features, and she looked hooked on the view of the horizon.

Lily felt footsteps on the ground. She felt familiar eyes scanning her over. And she waited for the thick western accent to come floating out through the air, forming obligated conversation. And as she waited, she was met with her exact prediction.

"Lily is that you?"

"Yes." She replied, not even looking up at the brunette.

"I didn't know you ever came outta yer house. Whatcha doin up here?"

"I usually come out here to be alone." Lily's voice was tired and harsh, due to the insulted feel that came from pointing out her obvious anti-socialism.

"Oh, I'm sorry Lily. Would you prefer me to leave?" _Yes. _Lily thought, but decided that it was a ridiculous request. After all, she lived here too.

"It's your neighborhood as much as mine Mrs. Ryan, you can do whatever you want."

"Okay."

Miley stayed in her spot, looking over at the small girl. She looked feeble and sad and depressed and annoyed. She couldn't have made her so sour in the few seconds she'd been there. Could she?

Rather than wonder, her infamous curiosity and outspokenness caused her to invest in some interest. She came over to where the girl was sitting. Her knees were tucked into her chest, her arms securely around them. And for the first time, this girl looked normal. She looked approachable, with emotion, not the blank wall of hidden feelings she always came off as. Yes, she must find out _who is_ Ms. Lillian Truscott.

"Would you mind some company?"

"Up to you Mrs. Ryan."

"Okay."

She settled herself gingerly beside the girl, careful not to make any contact with her. She wanted conversation, but would the blonde participate?

She threw caution to the wind.

"Lily, could I ask you something?"

"I suppose." Somehow, Lily knew this discussion would be inquisitive.

The brunette smelled of warm cookies and strawberries. In her eyes was the manifestation of love and kindness and compassion for the troubled. Yet, attempting to be subtle, was the underlying depression of unfulfilled dreams and wishful thinking. Lily supposed no one else could see the darkness behind the dazzle of green that was Miley's eyes. She supposed no one else could see the fakeness of happiness she put on. She supposed no one else really _cared._

"Lily, why don't you ever come out to the diners, or the stores, or hang out with the neighbors?"

"I cook at home. And I venture out when I _need_ grocery. And none of the neighbors have ever expressed desire to meet me or associate with me, so I figure they'd rather me keep to myself."

This saddened Miley.

"So they never came to welcome you?" The neighbors seemed awful nice to just _ignore_ her.

Lily sighed with a tone of annoyance and exhaustion, as though she'd expected this speech.

"I was in a bit of a distressed state upon first moving here. I was in no way able to deal with companionship, and after extending simple greeting they decided me sociopathic and never came to me again." She felt embarrassed after her confession, feeling as though she had given too much information.

"I don't mind lonesomeness." She added, to suppress any future sympathy or pity.

"Aww, well do you have any pets?"

"No."

"Any love interests?"

"No." At this, her eyes flashed and faltered and sadness flooded into them. Clearly this subject was beyond uncomfortable, and Miley ventured away from anything dealing with friends, family, or home life.

But the more she thought about it, the more she realized there was really nothing else to talk about. She was going to have to take this friendship _kindergartner speed._ So she started with a simple question.

"Hey Lil, what's your favorite color?"

The conversation was simple and surface valued, being answered with single words on Lily's part. It seemed her patience was thin and her tolerance was getting low. But somewhere, beneath her emotionless tones, there was a sense of happiness that some interest was being taken in her. It was the first time in two years that anyone had ever cared about something as miniscule as her favorite color.

"Lily, will you come to dinner with me tomorrow night? It's sort of like a get together, but it'll only be my family and the Palumbo's … and you?"

Lily could lie. She was good at lying. But the situation offered little chance of being believed. How could she say she was busy when she'd already detailed that she had nothing going for her? So instead she gave in.

"Okay. Thank you."

"Alright then, six pm tomorrow. Bring a hankerin for steak ya hear!"

And then Miley put a hand on her shoulder and left. And Lily sat and thought about how she'd just broken one of her many vows after he had left. She had gotten a friend. No, this was not how things were supposed to play out.


	4. Will: Worst Force of Function

Lily padded down the pavement, brandishing a bottle of finely aged red wine. She was unsure of the customs of visiting another's house, but she hoped she'd picked the right gift. As she neared the big yellow house, she felt her stomach turn and twist and a lump form in her throat. Standing upon the pathway to their entrance, she could hear the wind whistling, chastising her for her disobedience. _No, you shouldn't be here. You should be waiting for him._ And it was true. She should have. She never had company unless it was his; she never ate unless he cooked for her. It was _his_ voice in the wind, telling her he was disappointed. And she hated disappointing him.

Yet, her legs had walked to the door and her fingers had touched the bell, without even the consent of her greater mind. It was will she was moving on, and that was the most dangerous force of function.  
"Hiya Lil, wasn't sure you'd come out. We're glad to have you." Miley took the wine with an appreciative smile and moved so Lily could walk in. When she had, she put a comforting hand on her back, swiping it down and up before motioning her to follow. When she'd come into the grandiose kitchen, she could smell the luxury of home-cooked food and family unity. It was a tender fragrance, only left in houses that hosted the greatest love. Once, her own house smelled of such a fragrance. Now, it smelled of the emptiness that was her soul, her heart, and her home.

"Go out there and get barbequing with them boys Lucas." At the corner of the kitchen, there was a strong looking woman with mid shoulder brown hair and a husky voice bossing around a sedated and submissive looking man. He was small and skinny and frail, but with a kind and controlled face. She was pretty, but brute and forceful.

"Hang on a minute Lucas; I want you guys to meet someone. Lily, this is Joannie and Lucas Palumbo. Guys, this is Lily Truscott."

"Yeah I made the man take _my_ last name- WAIT Lily Truscott? As in _the_ Lillian Truscott? The girl from the haunted house?" Joannie looked as though she was in the middle of an often-made speech, when the realization of Lily finally sunk in. At the remark, Lily's face was a pale shade of pink. Her house really wasn't _that_ bad.

"Umm yes." She remembered seeing this couple before. She'd passed them off as nothing particular, noting the woman's abrasiveness, and the man's dark eyes. He was whipped by love, controlled by her, burdened and bound by the love he had. But like the gentleman he was, he never once complained.

"I apologize for her surprise Ms. Truscott; it's just a rare occasion that we ever get the privilege to see you. It's nice making your acquaintance." Lucas stuck out a soft warm hand, shaking hers firmly. His eyes had cleared a bit, and there was something that passed between her and him. It was an understanding that only abused slaves of love could comprehend.

"Thank you." She replied simply.

"Gosh you seem a lot more … human … in person Lily." Joannie jutted out a rough hand and shook it crazily.

"Thank you Mrs. Palumbo."

"Uh huh." She said skeptically, clearly not used to formalities as extreme as Lily's.

Before there was time for an awkward silence, the brunette woman had begun hounding on her husband.

"Lucas, didn't I tell you to go make friends with those guys out there?! Get going!" He nodded obediently, tipped his head at Lily and Miley, and began walking outside.

"Jesus Christ, I swear that man wouldn't have balls if God hadn't sewed 'em on."

Joannie looked more like she was talking to herself, but her rudeness wasn't settling well on Lily. Though, in a matter of seconds, she was the topic of Joannie's sporadic interest.

"So Lily, any husband? Boyfriend? Crush?" Uneasily, Lily eyed the woman, willing herself to clench her jaw shut.

"No." She stated simply and directly and looked away to make obvious her discomfort.

"Ah so you can't get a man huh?" Miley's voice hitched in her throat, knowing Joannie had crossed some undefined line. Lily looked furious and sad and ten times more shielded then she ever had been before.

"So Lily what do you do for a living?" The brunette quickly interjected and Lily shot her a grateful smile.

"I'm a writer." _Ah, that's why she_ _sounds so well dictated._ Miley thought.

"Got any good books on the shelf?"

"No Mrs. Palumbo I work as a journalist for the moment. Soon, after the publishing of my first novel, I will be an author." She _tried_ not to show her hatred for the woman.

"What's yer book gonna be called?"

"Slave of Love." Lily bit her bottom lip, looking as though she'd said too much.

"Ah … so is it a sex story?" Miley rolled her eyes at Joannie's incompetence.

"Hey Joannie, better go check up on those boys. Lord knows you can barbeque better than all of them. Don't want them burning down my backyard."

Joannie laughed heartily, taking it as a compliment, as Miley dismissed her. After she was gone, she turned to Lily. The blonde had grown very uneasy and uncomfortable, and she looked as though she was having a very difficult time. _I should've listened to him. He told me to stay home. I should have listened._

"Hey Lily, I'm sorry about Jo, she tends to speak her mind and she gets a bit rude sometimes. I don't think she even realizes she's doing it. I really only brought her over because her little boy, Jack, is around the age of ours. I hope she hasn't made you too uneasy. Can I get you something to drink?" Miley's hand had played a comforting circle on Lily's back, and it took all her might not to flinch under contact. She'd never felt a soothing hand that wasn't his.

"Water would be nice."

"Alright then." She smiled and fetched the beverage, before motioning for Lily to sit at the island with her.

"Tell me about yourself Lily. Where'd you live before here?" Again, an uneven shift.

"I'm really quite uninteresting Miley. I lived in Malibu before here. How about you? For someone who has such a disdain for country life, you do boast a rich Southern accent." Miley went pink in the cheeks at this observation, but also remembered to note the suppression Lily held over her past-life. Noting that she'd once again changed the subject.

"I used to live in the heart of Tennessee. But, after a few things happened, I decided I couldn't handle that life. I hated the country air, the mindless amounts of free reign. It was spacious yet emotionally constricting. I guess I figured New York was the place to be. That's where I met Jake. So I have no regrets." She looked a bit worried and apprehensive about the topic. Curiosity struck the blonde, but she opted to leave her her privacy- as she wanted some of her own.

"Wow. That's fantastic. How did you two meet?"

With that, the conversation was rapid and lighthearted. It gave Lily a moment to sit in repose. She felt the words tingle in her ear drums. She felt the tones of the story, lifting and shrugging, carry the subjects. Miley's voice was so calm and collected. It was a beautiful song of melodious notes. It travelled in and out of her mind as the tale was vibrantly relived.

And soon, it was time to eat.

---*---

Lily suffered through the obnoxious remarks of Joannie's unending speech. Constantly, she was being jabbed at with things that were so true that they were the worst kind of offense. But through it, came the comforting gaze of Miley's eyes, apologetically rethinking Joannie's invite.

Every time she spoke, she felt the brunette's eyes on her. Miley was always listening, offering her utmost focus. It'd been a long time since someone had listened.

And now, as she was perched in the arms of her favorite tree, she could hear the wind whistling. _What were you thinking?_ It asked the question over and over. She could justify no answer. What _was _she thinking going to a dinner party? What _was_ she thinking feeling special? What _was_ she thinking finding companionship in another? Then it hit her. She _wasn't_ thinking. She was living off of will. And will was the worst force of function.


	5. Compliments

**Aww Glistening Shadow you always bring me up! I love you! And Whurmy, I love your enthusiasm, lets go blow up Oliver! And HBO im sorry you're confused… Jake is Miley's husband, their sons' names are Riley and Jordan. Lucas is Joannie's husband. Hope that cleared it up. If ur confused again feel free to ask and ill clear it up **

The next day had Lily sitting in her porch chair, with a mug of coffee, breathing in the hazy air that was five am in the morning. Her thoughts relentlessly drifted to Miley. Her kindness met no boundary, and was completely undeserved. And yet, she offered it on any encounter.

As though fate had taken control, she noticed the fuzzy form of a female walking down the sidewalk, a shock of chestnut curls blowing in the lazy breeze. The figure stopped, looking deeply at the house Lily occupied, before noticing her and beginning her ascent up the long pathway. She climbed the broken cobblestone path, passing dead grass and layers of weeds. It almost had the blonde feeling shame for lack of care.

To meet the brunette, Lily hopped from her chair and made her way to meet Miley. It was uncomfortable to have her intruding, uninvited, and coming toward the porch. Yet, obliviously, as they came face to face, Miley began to engage conversation.

"Hiya Lily. You're up awful early."

"I could say the same for you Miley. What brings you out?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I just got up to take a walk."

"Ah, I see."

"Doesn't explain why _you're_ up so early."

"Oh, I always get up around this time. Sometimes a quant bit earlier, other times a tad bit later. But in the vicinity of the early hours."

Almost immediately, Lily was upset with herself for confirming with Miley that she'd be there every morning. What if the girl began making visitations to her home to _talk_? Soon, she'd run out of pointless banter. And then this makeshift friendship would have to be compromised.

"Wow that must be tough. Is there a reason why?"

"I just like the morning. It's a time for a clear mind, uninterrupted and unbiased by the events of the day. They are the hours for the mind to be contently sane in its naivety." Miley looked shocked at the poetic explanation.

"My Lily, you are very cryptic. And yet, you make even confusion sound intelligent and poetic. No wonder you're a writer. You must be fantastic."

A small pink tint graced her cheeks as she took in the compliment. The last person to ever comment on her writing was her Editor. And it was strictly business. Though, as she felt happiness swimming through her thoughts, she remembered that the only compliments she liked came from him. They had meaning. They had love behind them. A love that no one else could meet.

"Thank you." She said simply. But she didn't want to invite anymore kindness so she added. "It would make no sense for me to have poor linguistics when I am paid to be otherwise better."

Miley nodded, a bit of confusion on her face.

"Lily, I notice how you speak uptight and formal. Gosh, you called me Mrs. Stewart for the longest while. But, with me, you can just speak normal ya know. Just relaxed and such."

"Alright." The reply was uncomfortable, formality helped to keep people at a distance.

"Are you okay Lily you look a bit dodgy." She felt her hand to Lily's forehead, and she flinched away from the contact. A worried look came over Miley's face.

"Come to think of it, I don't feel very well, will you excuse me Miley? Have a nice a day. It was a pleasure talking to you."

"Yeah same here. Uh bye Lil?" She looked utterly confused, and more than a little hurt at the avoidance. But the blonde didn't give time to understand her expression; instead, she simply waved and walked back up to her porch.

---*---

Lily sat at her dining room table, observing the brunette. She had dismissed herself only moments ago, and Miley was yet to overcome the abrupt stop and leave the lot. Slowly she turned, giving a last glare toward the house, and began her descent. Lily's eyes stayed plastered on her every step until she was swallowed by the fog.

Miley's steps were laden with the burdens of a heavy mind. It was noticeable, even from within a tinted window, that she was walking with an overflowing cup. Lily sighed. She knew Miley was trying to figure her out. She was trying to connect the dots. Hopefully, she was as airheaded as she looked, and her endeavor to discovery would be fruitless. And yet, something told her that the little brunette simply wouldn't stop until she understood.

Another sigh was emitted when her visual had blended with the fallen clouds, and she sat back, thinking about the compliment. Why it stuck in her head, she didn't know. It must've been because she hadn't heard a genuine kindness directed at her in so long. But, what hurt her the most was the joy that filled her. It wasn't normal. And it was another broken vow.

The wind bellowed, suddenly, about the house. It was tangling in her Oak's leaves, and it was banging into her walls. It was so random that it frightened her. That is, until she heard its whistled words. _You're disappointing me. You're breaking away from me. Why aren't you waiting for me? Why aren't you waiting for me? Why aren't you waiting for me…? _She clamped her ears to silence the words, but they replayed tauntingly in her head. They had settled into her nerves and she felt the burning of a migraine coming on. She reached for Extra Strength Aspirin and took her Anti-Depressants four at a time.

As she felt them sliding down her throat, she sat back in her chair. She looked out at the scenery being bustled by the crazy onslaught of wind. Nothing could distract her memory as she was suddenly sucked back into her past.

_The door opened and closed and Lily emerged from the kitchen, adorned in her finest black silk dress. At the door, Oliver stood, his hair gelled in perfection, his young face clean shaven and flawless. He was in his usual suit, and he smelled of a day's work and worn cologne as Lily came to embrace him. For the first time in three months, he put his arms back around her._

"_Are you ready to head out Ollie pop?_

"_Yes Lillian. And please don't call me that, it's demeaning."_

"_It's cute. I always used to call you that, and you always used to call me Lily Pop."_

"_Lillian, please." His voice had turned from exhausted to serious. Lily dropped the conversation immediately. This was the first time he would take her out in two months, and she didn't want to begin the night with a quarrel._

"_Sorry." She said simply and reluctantly let go of him when his hands put pressure on her shoulders._

"_What restaurant are we going to?"He attempted to break the silence._

"_Anywhere you want to go."_

"_Alright." He opened to door for her and led her out._

"_Your dress looks nice Lillian."_

"_Thank you Oliver."_

That was the greatest she'd felt in a long time. Hearing him say something kind to her was a rare but irreplaceable treasure. That night had been spent in silence. To Lily, it was blissful silence. Her attempts to start conversation were shot down and answered with one word or a simple phrase. She didn't dare mention work. The topic hurt them both, he was quite aware she knew, and she was quite aware that he would never talk to her again if she brought it up.

So they were without anything to say. He hardly looked her in the eyes. But he held the door for, put his coat around her, pulled her chair out for her, and paid for her. He was nothing less than the perfect gentleman. He'd always been. Even when he was young and goofy. Lately, he wasn't the Lovesick-Hopeless-Romantic he used to be. He wasn't creative with his jokes or sincere with his comments and his gifts. He said obligatory compliments to please her, bought her what she wanted whenever a day of obligation came up. In fact, he was nothing but a stereotypical husband fulfilling _obligation_ after _obligation._ Love wasn't for sale, nor was it an obligation. And, unfortunately, those were the only two things he knew. And love was the _only_ thing she wanted.


	6. Enigmatic Beauty

**Lol Dark Angel, if my definition of sociopath is weird then so is the dictionary's. Oh, and you should know I take my stories slowwwwer than most. So chillax buddy, Miley's marriage is a VERY important part of this story and it is very developed and will unfold in good time, don't worry I haven't forgotten. : ) thanx so much for the support and creative criticism I appreciate it very much!**

Miley sat on the banks of her little clearing in the woods. Her eyes were focusing intently on the water, and her back was pressed against a tree. There was only one thing on her mind, and she ashamedly admitted it was Lily.

The little enigma constantly bugged her. It was impossible not to want to figure it out. How could so many people ignore her? How could they not want to know what sadness darkened her eyes? What pain tensed her muscles? And what need for detachment kept her so far away from humanity? How could someone look at such a young and beautiful girl, wise beyond her years, and broken beyond her limits, and not want, not _need_ to help her?

But what happened? What could have happened?

She thought about all she knew.

Lily was something of a young twenty three, putting her seven years younger than Miley- though she looked a good hundred years older. She moved here out of distress, she couldn't even remember the name of any of the stores around her after two years. She gets up early and talks about a cloudy mind, which must mean she's under a lot of stress or something. She can't stand being in a conversation for more than five minutes, looks like she's struggling to figure out what to say, and is constantly straying the subject. She flinches away from touches and spends weeks and weeks secluded in her house.

So she's anti-social. That seems to be the root of the dilemmas. But why? Because of her past? It looked like she needs a friend. So from there on, Miley's promise to break the shell of a stitched Lily commenced.

---*---

Lily lay with her back in the arms of the tree. It was five o'clock in the morning and she had decided not sit in her general porch chair. Instead, she finished her coffee at an earlier hour, and looked over the clear skies in the height of her tree. Suddenly, a flash of brown caught her eye, and there was no mistaking who it was.

It seemed as though the branches gripped her tighter, daring her to be tempted by Miley, but never letting her go. From where the blonde was perched, she could see out, but no one could see her. The brunette came closer, directly beneath the tree, and Lily could see the expression on her face. It was confused and exhausted and a little distressed.

She wanted to stay embedded in the warmth of her leaves, but the face called to her in a strange way. It sought comfort that begged for her company. But why? It was a question she asked every time Miley engaged in conversation. A sigh was emitted when she noticed the girl retreating, obviously not seeing her presence on the patio. Something about her being around gave Lily a settled feeling. A feeling she hadn't felt in a long two years.

She deftly jumped from the tree, landing quietly on her feet. She was still agile in her youth. Besides, she didn't want to have Miley know about her most sacred place. And, despite the chidings of the wind, she walked until she was in step with the descending curls.

"Good morning Miley." The girl jumped a little and stopped to lock eyes.

"Goodness Lil you scared me, I didn't see you up on your patio." _Lil. _When had _Lil_ become her nickname? When was she even allowed to call her _Lily_? Was this a sign that their friendship was becoming progressively casual? No, that couldn't be done.

"I apologize Miley; that was not my intention. However, I assumed you sought my company by visiting so early."

"Oh right. I know this is usually your thinking time. But I dunno, jus wanted ta offer some company. I always see you alone."

"I don't mind aloneness."

"I know. I can leave if you want." Miley thought, why did she even come down here? Oh yeah, because she was supposed to be making friends.

"Well, you seem a bit distraught. And there must have been a reason you came down here. Is there something you need?" There was patience in her voice, yet, she wanted but couldn't feel annoyed by the imposition.

They were still standing in the middle of the street, both of them casually speaking. To an onlooker, the scene almost looked … _neighborly._ Something that Lillian Truscott absolutely was NOT.

Miley took in a deep breath. "I guess life is just stressful here."

"You'll become accustom to the small environment. The optimism of the people will grow on you. And, soon, you'll find peace in the calmness- and not the stress of knowing that everything is so slow."

"Wow, just about read ma mind there Lil. I mean this place ain't what I'm used ta, but I guess ma boys are a bitova stress too."

"I imagine all children are burdens at times." She tried not to recall the way she used to wish she had a child. How she wanted to feel their smiles, and know it was _her_ that brought them. She didn't want to remember her thoughts of the perfect family.

"Oh no hon, children are great to have. They give life so much joy. But when they're seven and they're boys, they tend to be a handful."

A short chuckle was given, but not returned by the blonde. _Hon_. The nickname burned in her ears. It was an overreaction to become annoyed with these words on another's lips. But it couldn't be helped.

"Right, well I suppose for all they take they must give something. Anyways, I'm quite busy; I only came out for a short while. I'll hafta leave now, will you excuse me?"

"Lily, you've only been talking to me for about five minutes. Can't you spare a few seconds to hang out with a neighbor?" _No._

"Miley, I have a job to get to. I've enjoyed our interaction, but I have to go in."

She began to leave but Miley grabbed her wrist on impulse and turned her back to face her.

"Mi-" She began, clearly annoyed.

"Lily how old are you?"

"Why does it matter?"

"If it doesn't matter why don't you tell me?"

"I'm twenty three."

"See, Lil, you're twenty three. TWENTY THREE! You don't have to work every second of the day. You hafta get out more. You're still young!"

"I'm content with my current schedule, please don't meddle Miley."

"What could you possibly have to do that can't wait for you to finish a conversation?"

"Will you leave me alone?!"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because something is wrong, and you _need_ a friend. And I won't give up until we _are_ friends."

Lily huffed and broke her arm from Miley's grasp.

"I don't _need_ anything."

Her voice was laced with malice. Her often apathetic face was now twisted in an unreadable expression. Without another word she turned and left, stomping toward her house.

"I won't give up." Miley called after her, a small frown coming to her face. The first part of her plan wasn't working. But she wouldn't give up.

And as she walked back, she tried to think of what it was that attracted her to Lily so much. What was it that _made_ her keep trying to converse. She'd only known this girl for around a month. She'd only talked to her around three times. And yet, she spent endless hours thinking and sorting this enigmatic beauty out. She couldn't stand to see such a fragile creature ruptured beyond repair.

**Aww I think Miley's getting smitten**


	7. Submissive

**Sorry you guys…preparing for finals is kicking my butt! Thanx fer the patience and the reviews!**

Three days past, and Miley would walk up to the house at five am each morning. It was empty, there was no one. No one sat at the patio. No one met her on her walk back. Lily had just closed her off. _Ugh._ Her unknown semi-cooperation was a detrimental part of her plan. Suddenly she heard a gruff voice.

"G'mornin' Mrs. Ryan." It was Bobby Grey sitting on his patio.

"Oh, morning Bobby, how ya doing?"

"Jus fine little lady, come up o'er 'ere won't cha?"

Miley had always liked Bobby Grey. He was a lone man who'd lost his wife and he, somewhat, reminded her of her dad. They spoke to each other nearly every day, meeting up at random times. He was kind and understanding and she felt young and happy listening to the stories of his past.

"Yeah why not Bobby." She came up to sit beside the man on a spare chair. "Why you up so early?"

"I'm an ole man, I wake at all hours o' the day." He chuckled a warm, rough laugh.

"Ah, well what's on yer mind?"

Well I could ask ya the same question little misses. Whatcha doin' ever' mornin' walkin' up to that girl's 'ouse."

"You mean Lily's house?"

"Ya I mean Lil'ian's 'ouse. That girl is so far locked in 'er miser' there ain't no poin' lookin' fer 'er."

"She's usually out there this early, I always used to see her. She just now stopped comin' out."

"Listen 'ere litt' lady, I seen ya up there before. Yer the ferst person I e'er seen 'er talk to fer more than a secun. Now why is it ya talk to 'er so?"

"I don't know. I like talking to her. It seems like something's really wrong, and it looks like she could use a friend."

"No doubt 'bout needin' a fren. But she'll ne'er let ya in. We've all tried talkin' to 'er sometime. Though, I dunno, she talks ta ya so much, ya might be the one."

This made Miley smile.

"So you think I should keep tryin'?"

"'Course I do. That girl deserves a fren after all she's bin through. Jus kno it'll be tough."

"What's she been through exactly?"

"No one really knows. But it's caused 'er a lotta trauma. When she moved 'ere, she looked damn screwy I tell ya."

"I don't doubt it Bobby, she looks really troubled. Thanks for the support. I gotta go, but I'll see ya around, 'kay?"

"Ya better bet ya will. Have ya a nice day little misses. And a big thank ya fer tryin' to help that poor girl. I know she really needs a fren like you. Even when she pushes ya away, don't ya give up. That's all anyone's ever done fer that girl. Don't you give up now."

"Nah, I'd never dream of it sir. Thanks again, have a nice day yourself."

He gave a big smile and a wave and she left slowly.

"We're so lucky ta have a precious girl like 'er." He said beneath his breath, but Miley caught it and a smile began on her face. _I won't give up. I won't give up. I won't give up._

Lily slowly rose from her bed and read the gleaming eleven o' clock on the digital alarm face. It was mocking her, reminding her that one day, when the light had been so worn, she'd not open her eyes. In fact, she always woke at five am for fear that a moment more of sleep would condemn her to eternal slumber. But sometimes, when her drugs ran low and her thoughts ran high, she wished that the time would beep later and later until she could see the swallowing fires of hell.

She brushed the thoughts off with the water cascading on her body. And after deeming herself decent, carrying out the dailies of her morning, she headed to the kitchen for her coffee, her drugs, and food. As she neared the pantry, she looked at it in dismay. There was not even a piece of bread without mold. Had it really been so long since she'd eaten a worthy meal?

She moved to her row of cabinets and opened the only one that served more purpose than show. In it were a few mugs, a large canister of coffee, and various dressings. Gazing into said cabinet she reached for the canister, only to find that not the tiniest grain remained. Had she really been so numb that she hadn't registered the graduation of her consumption?

At last she came to the fridge, a dull pain swallowing her stomach, and she surveyed the contents. There was nothing save a half bottle of curdled milk and a chunk of molded cheese. Suddenly, the pain in her stomach rapidly increased, and the twists were bundled in her thoughts.

She reached for her car keys. They were coated in a layer of dust. The fingerprints that marked their silver had been engraved from the days when she ventured out most. It was a day when she was unafraid of the outdoor world, of the expulsion to memories, of the enthusiastic faces of life-loving bodies in their pattern. But now their faces stung the back of her eyes. Because, once, that was the own face she adopted.

Now, she thought of her shadows. Her stalkers. They followed her out of the house. One lay in an imaginary layer of grey, haunting the accusations of her past. The other wore brown curls on her shoulders and kind green eyes. She would be there. Trying to break her. Trying to figure her out. Trying to cure her. But there was nothing. There _was_ no cure.

She glanced out the window, struggling her eyes beyond the dark tint, running her gaze over every intricacy of her vision. Miley was silent, hidden, but she was there. And as Lily sat in her old truck, pulling away, feeling unfamiliar in the town she occupied, she could only imagine that subconscious drove her car. Subconscious gave her direction. And subconsciously, she could feel the chill of her grey partner in her backseat, and the scrutiny of her brunette watcher not far behind.

Walking down the aisles of countless grocery, she looked into the nutrition facts of a can of soda. It was only to occupy her sight. And suddenly, though not unexpectedly, she heard familiar steps behind her. Soon, the familiar steps blended into familiar breaths. Then, familiar breath formed familiar words. And there was no doubt. It was her.

"Hey Lily, how are ya?"

"I'm fine."

"I haven't seen you on your porch lately. In fact," she looked at her cell phone, "it's like twelve in the afternoon. Did you sleep in?"She feigned shock in a sarcastic way, giving a quick chuckle and a wink.

"Yeah, I haven't been feeling well lately." The humor was never starker on Lily's face.

"Aw I'm sorry. Why are you out if you're sick?" Miley tried to bring the conversation to some lighter comfort.

She reached the back of her hand to lightly touch Lily's forehead, and at the sensation, Lily flinched backward. The brunette quickly recoiled her hand and looked down.

"You know I'm not going to hurt you Lily." She said tonelessly, her gaze never leaving the floor. Lily said nothing, but shifted her gaze to look at the girl before her. Their eyes met quickly, before Miley looked down again, evading the piercing blue.

"Why do you hate me so much Lily?" The words were barely audible. They would have been mixed in with the sounds of the world had a trained ear not listened for them. The blonde emitted a slow and patience-gathering sigh.

"I don't hate you Miley." The brunette's head quickly shot up. "I have no reason to… as of yet."

"Then why won't you let me be your friend?"

"I don't appreciate companionship, you know that."

"I know, but you're still human. And everyone _needs_ at least one friend. Please just give me a chance?"

"Miley-"

"Please Lily."

She sighed tiredly. "If I say we're friends, will you let me be?"

"Yes!" She replied and her eyes sparkled the lightest green.

"Fine. We're friends." She fought the urge to roll her eyes and began to walk off, hearing Miley running behind her to catch up.

"Lily!"

"Yes?"

"Can I shop with you?"

"Is it necessary?"

"Friends shop with friends."

"I'm only getting grocery."

"So am I!"

"Well if you feel the need, you can accompany me."

"Good, I won't bother you, I promise."

"Will you talk to me?"

"I'd like to."

She sighed again. "Alright then." Her tone was worn.

Somehow, she couldn't find it in her heart to hate this woman. The way she smelt like sweet strawberries, the way her smile was ever present, and the way her words slid enthusiastically off her tongue, it was all too different from the norm. Plus, the face she played, with the happiness she harbored, made it like kicking a puppy to refuse her. And though Lily was cold and indifferent to most things, she was not unnecessarily cruel. So, as it was observed but not appreciated by herself, she was submissive in the ways of Miley Ryan.


	8. Screwing Good Things

**Sorry again my loves! Thanx sooo much fer the support, fer sum reason I hav a knack for writing depressively so hopefully im conveying the emotions right ! thanx again for putting up with my slow updates! ! ill get better over the summer I hope!**

Since Lily's consent of friendship with Miley, she noticed she'd been inevitably tricked. She encountered the brunette every day. In fact, every morning, the girl would come up, bouncing in her steps, and sitting daintily on a spare porch chair, sharing a pointless conversation she justified as bonding. Strangely enough, the blonde couldn't feel annoyance at it. As much as she tried to despise the airy voice, shut out the outspoken personality, and brush off the ongoing benevolence; she couldn't find it in herself.

So her muddled thoughts brought her, at four in the morning, to the arms of her oak tree. Here, she could hear the wind whispering to her. She frequented this place by the night, struggling to listen to his vicarious speeches. _I see you with her. You smile like with me. Do you even remember me? Do you even remember me Lillian?_

"Yes, I could never forget you. You know I'll never forget you." She cried out at the accusations of her loyalty.

It was silent, as the wind processed and thought. _Then why do you like her? Why do you like her Lillian? Why are you letting her take my place?_

"She isn't taking your place. I still love you. I miss you. Why did you leave me? Why? Why wasn't I enough for you?"

The wind was silent. It was a question she asked as many times as she dared. But it was never answered; simply because the discussion was a figment of her conflicting subconscious. And this being the case, since she had no answers herself, no answer was furnished. Now the tears, which were so rare in her eyes, were pouring out and over her shirt and face. Her eyes were growing red, her breathing labored, and suddenly the glimmer in her hands was highlighted by the moon. It was a knife.

Before she could focus her mind to unite with her will, she felt the flesh of her thigh being torn by a merciless blade. She could not blame her hand for the felony. It was her mind, it was nature. _He_ was punishing her. _He_ was getting in her head. _He_ was reminding her that she was still bound to him by helpless love. She was still _his _property. And as the salt of her tears fell and burned the open slits of her wounds, and the red of her blood stained and dried on her skin and clothes, she laughed a cynical laugh (the laugh he would produce if he could see this) and her eyes closed for a restless sleep.

When Lily awoke is was to a blast of frigid wind. And as she surveyed her mangled figure, her eyes grazed the spots of her bruises and cuts and a rendition of the pain surged through her. And then, a rhythm of steady footsteps deflected off the gravel of her pathway. It was her. It must be close to five in the morning. Lily yawned heavily; sleep still swarming in her eyes and muscles.

The realization that she was still lying in the arms of her oak came to her as she nearly tumbled out of the great grasp. Her legs were wobbly as she soundlessly landed on the ground, her grace sacrificed for her silence. Yet Miley, whose eyes were rapidly searching and whose ears were conditioned by children, saw and heard her and walked over to her.

"Oh Lily, good morning, where were you? You look awful." She spoke her thoughts unconsciously, as she stared through the darkness at the disheveled girl.

"I… um… well I was sitting in that tree." She pointed upward, no longer trying to hide that she was in her oak. In fact, if Miley were to find the inflictions on her leg, she'd have to describe them somehow.

"You were sitting in a tree at five in the morning? Doing wh- Oh my God! What happened to your leg?" _Record Time. _Thankfully her prior question had been abandoned. Lily thought.

"Well I suppose I got scratched by the branches." Her voice was tentative, begging for belief and confidence. But, as was life's way of screwing good things, the streetlight chose such a time to shine a fervent flash on the knife that lay on the surface of the frayed grass. It fell from her hands while she was sleeping. Miley gasped as fate drew her eyes to the object, and Lily followed the gaze. A sudden churning came to her stomach.

Miley's eyes traveled up Lily's legs. Up to the start of her short shorts, where her cuts began and covered her upper thighs.

"Lily, no, tell me it was the tree. Tell me it was the tree branches." Lily looked down, but Miley could see the dried blood on her shirt and on her tucked-together hands. There was a taunting scarlet ribbon on the knife's edge. And it was noticed.

"Lily, please tell me you didn't do this to yourself." She never lifted her sight from the earth, but she could feel Miley's eyes on her.

"SAY SOMETHING!"

"Miley, maybe you should leave now."

"No, no, no, not after this. Not after this. You have to talk to me." She began to hyperventilate.

"Please, calm down and leave." Miley's eyes were hurt. "Maybe you can come back tomorrow. I just need some time, okay?"

"Lily I don't wanna leave after seeing this. We're friends, you can talk to me."

"Just please go. Later okay? We'll discuss this later."

"Fine. Just, please take care of yourself." Her voice was laced with disappointment, but she knew there was no point in fighting with stubbornness.

Lily sat on her porch chair, stirring her coffee unnecessarily. It was way past five am, and Miley hadn't come. She knew she'd scared the little bundle of joy away. Somehow, she missed her. She missed their awkwardly simple conversations. She felt a kind of disappointment she was only used to feeling with _him._ It shouldn't be _disappointing_ not to see Miley. It shouldn't be. But it was.

Deciding that she needed a distraction, she walked down to her favorite nook in the woods, and watched over the horizon.

She'd spent but a minute playing her eyes over the limpid stream and the glistening sun before a patterned rhythm padded the Earth. And yet, odd as it was with Miley, there was silence until she felt the girl sit beside her, tucking her knees to her chest and meeting her gaze over the water.

The question sat feverishly between them, daring one of them to pierce the silence with it. It wouldn't be Lily. A full ten minutes was spent simply in the presence of one another, before Miley finally mustered the courage to speak. She drew in a shaky breath.

"What happened yesterday Lily?" Her voice was calm and emotionless, and her eyes never left the water.

"Miley, when I said we'll talk later, I implied that we should forget about it."

"I can't, I've thought about it since it happened. What the hell was going through your head?"

"This doesn't concern you Miley and I'd appreciate if you'd leave it alone."

"I can't." It came out as a whisper and Lily had to look to her face to see her lips moving. And as she did so, she was met with strong green eyes. They held an unreadable cloudiness. Something in them begged for understanding and trust, yet another was so afraid of the truth.

"Why not?" She almost didn't mean the harshness, and felt instant regret when she saw the pain in Miley's eyes.

"Because we're friends, and friends care about each other Lily." At this, Lily was taken aback. There was a determined kindness in her; it was admirable, but so very foreign to the blonde. There was a time when she heard this care in _his_ voice, but it dissolved long before she realized how much she took it for granted.

"_Lil, talk to me sweetheart." The duo sat on Oliver's bed, his arm around her waist, and his fingers intertwined with hers._

"_Please sweetie, I've never seen you so upset." His voice was so understanding, pleading to be trusted, and his shoulder was so strong. She could cry on it any day. She sunk into his grip, and smelt his warm smell, feeling his deep voice vibrate through his chest._

_He took his free hand and brushed the hair out of her eyes, giving her a smile that said 'you're so beautiful' even though she knew she mustn't be. Her eyes were red and puffy and her nose was runny. She couldn't look good. But he thought she was beautiful._

"_Dad said we can't be together Ollie. He says it isn't right, that you aren't good for me. He says you don't love me and you can't handle commitment. And he says after high school, he's moving us."_

"_Aw baby, why did he say that?"_

"_Remember when your mom used to drink?"_

"_Now Lil, that was just because my dad left us. She was stressed and she drank and she __**was **__an alcoholic. But she spent two years in rehab and detox camps. She's clean, you know that."_

"_Dad says you come from a bad home. And you'll turn out like your mom." She sniffled back a fresh set of tears. _

"_I don't wanna…sniff… leave… sniff … you… cough… Ollie." She hugged him tighter, as tight as she could, as he lifted her onto his lap and enveloped her in a suffocated embrace._

"_Do you wanna be with me?" She thought about it. She'd never wanted anything more in her seventeen years of life. She nodded._

"_Then I won't let him take you sweetheart. Dad left me a trust fund with enough money for college and more. You'll turn eighteen soon and then you'll be legally free from them. We'll go and live somewhere, I'll buy an apartment. Where do you wanna live?"_

_She chuckled and a small smile came on her face. "I wanna live in Malibu!"_

_He gave his own smile. "Well Malibu it is baby." And at that moment, she never felt safer than in his arms. She buried her face in his shaggy hair, and he held her in comfortable silence._

"Lily? Lily?" Miley's voice had moved into a little irritation.

"I'm sorry, what?" Lily said innocently, shaking her head from her distractions.

"Were you even listening?"

"I… um… I don't think so, I apologize."

"You just zoned out there Lily. What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing." She said quickly.

Miley sighed. "When are you going to start talking to me?"

"We _are_ talking." Lily stated matter-of-factly.

"You know what I'm talking about. Why don't you trust me?"

"Trust is a fragile thing, Miley. I've known you for something of two months. I don't give away my trust. I appreciate my privacy. Can't you accept that?"

At that moment, Miley turned to make it obvious that she was staring at Lily. No longer was she stealing glances, and she reached to put her hand on Lily's shoulder. To this, Lily almost flinched, but contained herself for fear of further questioning.

"Listen to me sweetheart, when you _hurt_ yourself… with _knives, _privacy can't be respected. Lily, honestly, I've always had a little worry for you. But _now_, I'm very worried. What if you cut your wrist next time? And you bled to death? Or your neck?" She had begun hyperventilating again, her hand still atop Lily's shoulder, and her eyes clouded with anxiety. Lily couldn't pull her mind off of the word _sweetheart._

They spent a moment simply looking in each other's eyes, equally searching for any spot of what each other were thinking. "Miley, I should go." Lily said simply, and she yanked herself from under Miley's hand and stood up.

"No! No Lily, not this time! You _need_ to talk to someone. And you are _gonna_ talk to me. I won't leave you alone till you do." As she said this, she grabbed a handful of Lily's shirt and then her shoulders to turn her around.

"Miley-" She began annoyed.

Miley's grip on her shoulders moved down, and she was now holding Lily's left wrist tightly. To this clutch, Lily struggled, but the hold was surprisingly strong and relentless.

"Sit down." Like a child, Lily shook her head defiantly. "Yes. Sit down." Lily knew the other girl was bigger than her, and clearly stronger. So, she submitted to the will, and sat down with an angry scowl.

"Talk to me." With those words, Lily felt a juvenile idea strike her. She could just get up and run away. That used to be her copout when she was young. But she was twenty three now, and immaturity of that sort would simply make her look stupid.

Lily sighed and looked into the brunette's emerald orbs.

"Miley," She started, and her voice was so meager and weak that Miley could hardly believe it was hers. It genuinely sounded as though Lily was going to talk. Her eyes were misty, her body was limp and impostured; she looked unbelievably young, like a helpless child. And at this, Miley wanted to hug her, but refrained.

"Go on honey, tell me what's a matter."

At hearing this, dubbed in all the care that was Miley, Lily couldn't hold it back.

"I can't do this." She hiccupped back a tear, and before Miley could register a reaction, the blonde was gone.

"Fuck." She muttered under her breath, and laid back into the grass, watching the fading figure of her friend.


End file.
